The Playboy Meets His Match. Sara Orwig

telling the truth, but he’s your friend and your good-ol’-boy fellow club member. Y’all are a bunch of snooty male chauvinists, and I know you’ll believe him over me, so what’s the point in even discussing this with you?” she said, becoming more annoyed as she talked because a twinkle had come into his eyes.

      “What’s the point in slashing his tires?”

      “I just want him to know that I’m here. That I’m in his life and I’m not going to go away. I want to cause that man some grief.”

      “He knows you’re in his life, and you are causing him a little grief. But I’ll tell you what, all those good-ol’-boy male chauvinists have voted that I’m to keep you out of everybody else’s hair, so that’s just what I’m going to do. Tonight, you can just stay here under my roof until you simmer down. And tomorrow you can go back to wherever you came from.”

      “That’s what you think, mister.”

      “Jason is the name, remember?”

      “Mister is sufficient. We’re not going to be friends.”

      “Now that’s another challenge you’ve just flung at me,” he drawled, and she definitely saw the twinkle in his eyes that time.

      Thrusting out her jaw, she leaned closer to him. “I will never be friends with a man like you, buster!”

      He looked as if he was making an effort not to laugh out loud. He leaned close. “Why not, Meredith?”

      Oh, my! She was going to have to watch it around this one. He was sexy and too handsome and his voice sent shivers skittering around inside her. And those bedroom eyes of his! She moved back and drew herself up. “I’m sure most women just melt when you bat your eyes at them, but I’m not melting, nor will I. I—”

      “Challenge number three,” he stated, this time speaking in a slow drawl and looking at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes that made her draw a swift breath.

      “I’m not flinging sexy challenges at you. I’m telling you. You probably can’t believe that a female in this whole big state of Texas is immune to your charm.”

      “Darlin’,” he drawled in a tone that did curl her toes and sent a flash of heat that threatened to melt her, “I haven’t even begun to turn on any charm. Knocking the wind out of me doesn’t exactly draw out the best aspects of my personality.”

      “You attacked me.”

      “I stopped a vandal from escaping,” he reminded her. He took her wrist again. His brows arched. “Your pulse is racing, Meredith.”

      She glared at him while crimson flooded her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s fright.”

      “You—afraid?”

      “There’s good reason to be,” she snapped, pointing at her scraped face and annoyed that her pulse was reacting to him in a wild, uncontrollable manner.

      “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, and to her surprise, he sounded truly contrite. “Come on. Let’s get something to drink. I definitely want a drink.”

      “I’ll come without you holding my hand,” she said, attempting to yank free.

      “I think I want to keep one hand under control. You have a wicked punch there. Besides, I don’t want you heaving one of the family heirlooms at me and breaking some favorite vase.”

      “I wouldn’t think of it.”

      “Not much you wouldn’t.”

      He was tall, broad-shouldered and a very sexy male. Having him hold her wrist made her nervous, even though his grip was light. When she had tried to get free, he had held her without effort, but she knew that wasn’t what bothered her. It was the physical contact with him, however slight, that set her pulse racing.

      Maybe if she humored him until he locked her in a room—and she was certain that’s exactly what he would do sooner or later—then she could try to escape. Once they were in the kitchen, he released her wrist. While he pulled a cold beer out of the refrigerator, Meredith studied the windows and latches, which looked quite ordinary. And she had watched when he had turned off his alarm, so she could remember the series of numbers he had punched in. She was certain Jason wouldn’t think she’d try to escape, especially since they were so far from town. He had left his pickup near the back door and if she could get outside to his pickup, she would be on her way.

      “Want some pop?”

      “I am not drinking or eating with you.”

      “Suit yourself,” he said, and turned to open the bottle of beer. They returned to the sofa where he sat too close for comfort. She could detect his aftershave, see the faint dark stubble on his jaw.

      He set his beer on a coaster on the large cherrywood table standing in front of the sofa. He pulled off a boot and set it aside and then pulled off the other one. “We might as well get comfortable.”

      She was half tempted to say she wanted to go to jail, but his house was cozy and there weren’t any bars on the windows and she stood a far better chance of escaping from this ornery Texan than she would from a jail.

      “Now tell me why you want to cause Dorian grief.”

      “He’s a wicked man. But I know you don’t believe a word I’m saying because he’s in your good-ol’-boy group.”

      “Let me decide that.”

      “One of my sisters was engaged to him.”

      “He denies that. Do you have any proof?”

      “Proof of their engagement? No, I don’t.”

      “Did he give her a ring?”

      “He told her that he was having his grandmother’s diamond ring reset. He kept putting off why it wasn’t ready and at the time, he sounded convincing. He can be charming and he’s good-looking and he’s clever. Everything sounded logical, so I didn’t doubt what my sister was telling me. Twice I had dinner with them, and I had him at our house,” she said. As Merry talked, she had to constantly gaze into those sexy eyes and she could hear how lame her story sounded. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in Jason’s expression, so she had no idea what he was thinking.

      “Our house? Are you married?”

      “No, I’m not. I live in an apartment in Dallas, but I go home often to the house where I grew up. My mom is a Dallas news anchor and I grew up in Dallas.”

      “Another well-known family member.” He tilted his head to study her. “Your mom isn’t Serena Dunstan, is she?”

      “Yes, she is. Her real name is Therese Silver, but Serena Dunstan is her professional name. How did you guess?”

      “She’s the right age and she’s done some controversial reporting—and won awards. Hank Silver, Serena Dunstan—you’re from a whole family of feisty daredevils.”

      “My sister Holly isn’t. She’s a little on the shy side.”

      “I would have to see it to believe it,” he remarked dryly.

      “Mom’s certainly more well-known than my brother. I’m really close to my three younger sisters, so I’m at our house most of the time. My youngest sister, Claudia, is in high school now, but she graduates this spring.”

      “I hope she’s not the one Dorian was supposedly engaged to.”

      “It isn’t supposedly,” Merry said darkly, knowing he was friends with the creep and wasn’t going to believe a word she said. “Dorian was engaged to Holly, who finished college early and has a great job as an engineer.”

      “Do you have pictures of them together?”

      “No, I don’t,” Merry answered flatly, realizing how flimsy her accusations were beginning